


Pressure Rising

by TheWhiteLily



Series: Super Short Sherlock (drabbles and 221Bs) [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Ficlet, Flatmates have these little fights, Gen, John is Not Amused, POV John Watson, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 03:03:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10630821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWhiteLily/pseuds/TheWhiteLily
Summary: Inclement weather makes for uneasy flatmates.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For fan_flashworks "Shoulder" (and drabble_weekly's "A Change in the Weather", although given I've now fiddled with it until it is a 221B instead of a double-drabble, it no longer satisfies the rules. :P)

John sheltered against the alleyway wall, squeezing his shoulder and vainly wishing for a heat pack to ease spasming muscles.

And a drink. Multiple drinks. In a warm pub, protected from the low-pressure system that had spent the last week raining and sleeting on London’s criminals and detectives alike.

Also a dartboard, picturing a certain consulting cockhead’s face.

Sherlock’s boredom at being cooped up had made for an unwelcome third flatmate, John admittedly no less snappish as the falling barometer seized up his shoulder completely. By the time a murderer braved the elements and brought them out, John wasn’t even sure he _wanted_ to follow Sherlock’s terse, unexplained instruction to wait here, amid the persistent icy drips filtering from the eaves.

Not after the fight they’d had.

He couldn’t help suspecting that leaving him behind was Sherlock’s revenge for John’s destroying the results of Sherlock’s unauthorised “woollen garment flammability” experiment.

A heavy-set man burst around the corner, Sherlock barrelling after him. Both skidded to a halt as John stepped out of cover.

“Stay where you are!” John yelled, gun’s aim steady, the pain in his shoulder faded to a background buzz.

Sherlock and John grinned at each other through the frozen raindrops and the upraised hands of the suspect, spat forgotten.

The atmospheric pressure _they_ needed didn’t register on the barometer.


End file.
